


so this is the miracle

by deanniker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Assimilated Identity, Cinderella AU because I am trash, F/M, King Dean, M/M, Manipulation, No Magic though, POV Castiel, Seriously if you've watched 2015 Cinderella you know what's going on, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanniker/pseuds/deanniker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't believe in magic, or fairytales, or happy endings. If someone were to ask his opinion, he'd say that the ball is nothing more than a clever stunt, something meant to drum up popular support for the new king, that would inevitably come to naught when he married some foreign princess. </p><p>No one asks him his opinion, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so this is the miracle

He doesn't believe in magic, or fairytales, or happy endings. If someone were to ask his opinion, he'd say that the ball is nothing more than a clever stunt, something meant to drum up popular support for the new king, that would inevitably come to naught when he married some foreign princess.

No one asks him his opinion, of course. Jess speaks about it with shining eyes and wistful looks, and even if she asked he would feign enthusiasm.

Naomi won’t let Jess go, he knows, and he tries to think of some way to curb her enthusiasm, but unfortunately he never gets the chance. Only a few hours after the announcement, Jess finds him in the garden and cries into his shoulder for thirty minutes. When she finally stops sobbing so loudly that he can understand what she’s saying, he learns that Naomi demanded her go to the seamstress for three new dresses - not four.

“I want to go to the palace,” Jess sobs. “Just once, I wanted to see the lights, to see the princes and dance with someone. Is that so bad?”

“No,” James says.

“I know you think it’s stupid,” Jess says. “I just wanted the memory, once. One good memory to get me through the bad times.”

James kisses her forehead.

The next day, when he goes into town on errands for the family, he takes all of the money he keeps stashed in the jar beneath his floorboards. He’s been saving for five years, and in another two he’d have enough to move Jess away from this godforsaken place, from Naomi.

What’s another seven years, he thinks, and hires a carriage for the night of the ball with almost all of it. The rest he uses to buy a length of pink satin and a white pair of ladies shoes.

He works on the dress when he has finished all of his chores, by the light of the candle. He is no seamstress, and if he can’t finish it in time he’ll have lost all his money but at least he won’t have to live with the knowledge that he did not try.

The weeks leading up to the ball are horrible. Rachel and Hester are insufferable and impossible to please, trying to one up each other, and Naomi criticizes every single thing either James or Jess do. She even goes so far as to criticize her own daughters, which says quite a lot about the state of things. Between polishing all the gems in the house, adding lines of woodwork into their carriage, and working on Jess’s dress James is lucky to get two hours of sleep. He’ll sleep when the work is done, when Jess gets her memory.

He is only slightly shocked when, on the night of the ball, Jess comes down the stairs clean and wearing a beautiful dress. It’s much finer than the one he made, and he has tears in his eyes when she says she worked on it herself.

James almost tears Naomi’s head off when she begins ripping it. The only reason he doesn’t is because the footmen hold him back, and even then it takes one of them kneeing him in the groin to make him fall to the floor.

He expected Jess to cry, but she seems more in shock. “How could they?” she asks, staring at the closed door. “Why are they so cruel?

“It doesn’t matter,” James says. “Come with me.”

“It’s not as beautiful as the one you made,” he says sheepishly, holding up the result of his paltry needle-work. “But you don’t need a lovely dress to be beautiful. Your carriage will be here in an hour.”

“What?” Jess whispers.

“I hired a carriage for you,” he says. “You’ll go to your ball.”

“Oh Jimmy,” Jess begins. “I -”

“Just accept it,” James says. “You deserve it. More than anyone.”

Jess insists that he come with her. “I can’t very well show up without a chaperone,” she says.

“I’m not a chaperone,” James argues. “I’m your servant.”

“No one needs to know,” Jess counters. “You can wear one of my father’s suits.”

This is a dangerous game, James knows. Jess pulls him into her room and opens the closets, rifling through the men’s suits that are still there, untouched throughout the years. “You should shave,” Jess says. “And take a bath. The water I used to wash isn’t completely clean but it should be enough to get the grime off.”

Another dangerous move, but knowing that Jess will not settle for anything less he removes his clothes and slips into the bathwater. Though she doesn't do so as often as her stepmother or her stepsisters, Jess bathes frequently enough that the water is only slightly murky when he enters. Within seconds it turns dark as the thick layer of sweat and ash is transferred off his skin. He shaves quickly, avoiding his eyes in the mirror.

When he steps into Jess’s room she has already left, laid out one of her father’s suits on her bed. There are a pair of shoes next to them, and she polished them to a shine.

He takes a deep breath before he opens the door. Jess is waiting for him on the landing, and when he steps forward she looks shocked.

“Jimmy,” she whispers as he tugs on the sleeves of the jacket uncomfortably. “You look…”

“I don’t have to go,” he says quickly. “I know I’m not -”

“Come here,” she urges, taking him by the hand and tugging him in front of her mirror. “Look.”

James looks, but he doesn’t meet his gaze in the mirror until Jess catches him by the chin and forces him to.

His breath catches. He looks good, the line of his jaw strong now that his beard is no longer in the way and his hair clean for once, but more than that, he looks like he belongs, standing next to Jess in her fathers suit. Even as he watches he sees himself straighten, his shoulders push back and oh, this was a mistake. “You look very noble,” Jess tells him.

“I shouldn’t be wearing this,” James whispers, one last attempt to stop this before something happens that can't be reversed. “Your father’s suit, please, my lady.”

“He wouldn’t have begrudged you this,” Jess says.

And that is that. James offers no more argument as she pulls him down the stairs and out into the courtyard, where the coach he paid for is waiting. The ride to the palace is a short one, but when they pull up to the gates it is obvious that the ball is well under way. That is well enough, James supposes, as it means they won’t have to be announced.

He is on edge, his eyes constantly scanning for Naomi. Jess, on the other hand, looks around with awe, caught up in the pleasure of their surroundings.

The surroundings are very fine indeed. The king has spared no expense to seek his future queen. Tables line the edges of the room, overflowing with wine and venison, champagne and chocolate. Chandeliers hang from the roof, unlit for now since natural light from the fading evening is still streaming through fine lengths of purple and gold cloth that criss-cross the ceiling. An orchestra plays in the background, almost drowned out by the chatter and laughter of the people.

Jess makes her way through the crowd, turning a few heads as people look at her plain dress. James flushes - he wishes he could have made something better - but follows her to the banquet table.

“Have you ever had deviled eggs?” Jess asks, filling a plate for him. “I’ve only had them a few times, back when we were still being invited to parties like this. I remember them being wonderful. And castle-baked pie!” She takes a slice and bites into it, moaning with appreciation. “Oh, I wish I could make something half so fine.”

“You are the best baker in the kingdom,” James says.

Jess rolls her eyes but pats him on the arm, smiling. “This pie is heavenly, try some.”

“Very well,” James sighs. He spears some of his own slice and when he places it in his mouth he almost chokes. It is the finest thing he has eaten in years.

“Enjoying the pie?”

Jess turns to face the speaker. James takes a moment to compose himself, gives the plate to a passing servant before turning as well. A young man dressed in a stunning white suit trimmed with gold is smiling at them, a plate filled mostly with greens in his hand.

“Oh, very much,” Jess replies. “I know I should try everything but I’m not sure I want to.”

The man laughs. “My brother thinks the same. He would eat nothing but pie until he became as round as a pumpkin and had to be pushed everywhere.” He looks shocked at himself and hastens to add, “Not that you would do that! Or that you would grow as round as a pumpkin! Or -  I mean -”

Jess giggles and James bites the inside of his cheeks. Keep a somber expression is difficult when a 6’4 man is blushing like a schoolgirl.

“I imagine it would be quite difficult to go through life as round a pumpkin. Though, for this pie, it might be worth it,” Jess teases. “Though I see you are not eating dessert? Are you not enamored with this wonderful pie?”

“Oh,” the man says sheepishly, looking at his plate. “I have to train in the morning. If I ate pie I would likely have my head taken off.”

“That would be a shame,” Jess says.

For a moment the two stare at each other, and then the man hands his plate off to a nearby servant and says, “Would you like to dance?”

Jess looks shocked (James hates seeing that - she is so beautiful, and such a loving soul, why should she be shocked) but recovers quickly and nods. She hands her plate to James and takes the man’s offered arm.

The night goes on. The sun sets and if anything the room only grows more beautiful. The chandeliers glimmer like stars. For a while, James stays by the dessert table, but when it becomes clear that Jess is not going to disentangle herself he wanders to the upper floor to watch.

It is darker on the terrace overlooking the ballroom, and empty. He feels less exposed up here. Naomi, Hester, and Rachel are no doubt below, trying to foster themselves onto the king. He is a little concerned that they might spy Jess, but it is unlikely they will do anything in public to cause a scene, and his presence wouldn't help. He leans against the railing and watches Jess and her partner spin across the floor. He cannot make out their expressions from this distance, but he knows Jess’s bearing enough to tell that she is relaxed and happy.

“How did you get up here?”

James looks up. startled. A man is standing a few feet away from him, though he can’t make out his face. “Up the stairs?” he offers.

“There are guards on all of the stairways,” the man says.

“I must have used the servant’s by accident,” James says, heart sinking. “Am I not supposed to be up here?”

“It’s fine,” the stranger says, shrugging. “I’m up here too.” That is very true, and James does not know what to say, settling for a noise of acknowledgement in the back of his throat. “Looked like you were watching someone pretty intently there. Who is it?”

“My -” James bites his lip before he can compromise himself. “The lady I escorted. She has been dancing with a gentleman all evening and left me on my own, so I came up here.”

“And left her to defend for herself?” the man asks. “What if her honor needs protecting?”

James rolls his eyes. “I can see her from here,” he says. “And I’m a fast runner.”

The stranger laughs and comes to lean beside James on the rail. “Which one is she?”

“She’s wearing a blue dress, dancing with the tall man in white,” James points out.

“Oh. Yeah, she’ll be fine. That’s my brother, he’s big on chivalry.”

“I see,” James says.

“I saw her when I was below,” the man says. “She is stunning, though her dress is… unique.” James stiffens. “Relax, man,” the stranger says, slapping his shoulder. “It’s simple, nice. I liked it. Sam certainly does.”

Sam, James thinks. Funny, because Sam is the name of - he freezes. He doesn’t want to turn, but he finds himself doing it anyway, and is only mildly shocked when he comes face to face with -

“Your majesty,” James breathes. For a moment they stare at each other, and then James averts his eyes and sinks to his knees. “Forgive me, I -”

“Oh, come on,” the man - no, his majesty, King Dean of Lawrence - groans. “Don’t start now. If I was offended I would have been offended at the beginning and certainly wouldn’t change my mind because of a bit of groveling.”

“I -” James can’t get up. Dressed up as a noble is one thing, dressed up as a noble in front of the king is another thing entirely.

“Get up,” the king orders.

He scrambles to his feet, but refuses to meet the kings eyes.

“Why won’t you look at me?” the king asks. He is quickly turning from annoyed to suspicious so James takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he has every right to look the king in the eye. Jess is of noble birth and therefore he, her escort, is of noble birth as well, and as such he can meet the king’s eyes without fear of reprisal.

They are very green, and stunning, and the corners of the king’s mouth turn up when James raises his own.

“You took me by surprise,” James says.

“Of course,” the king says. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Dean Michael Winchester, King of Lawrence and Sword of the West.”

Jimmy, he should say, or James. But he draws himself up to his full height and says. “My name is Castiel Moore.”

“Nice to meet you, Cas,” the king replies. “You don’t mind if I pass the time up here with you, do you?”

It is strange, at first, talking with the king, but he soon grows used to it, finds it easy to slip into the role of Cas - not Castiel. That would be wrong and dangerous. It helps that there is something so unregal about him. He isn’t wearing any jewels save a plain silver ring on his finger, and though his clothes are immaculate and well tailored, he leans against the balcony without any regard for them. The king wants Cas to call him Dean. The king wants to know about his sister, about her hobbies and her interests, her likes and dislikes. When Cas informs him that she bakes, the king’s eyes light up with enthusiasm.

“Are you trying to steal her from your brother?” Cas asks.

“What? No.” The king looks shocked. “I’m already engaged.”

Cas looks back out over the ball, at all the ladies who rushed here when they heard the royal announcement. “But I thought -”

Dean sighs. “Yes, the ball is a sham. I’m to wed a princess from another kingdom, secure allies, etcetera, etcetera. But it doesn’t have to be that way from my brother. My parents loved each other, and even if I can’t marry for that reason he should be able to.”

“I see,” Cas says. "So this princess of yours, is she beautiful?”

“The portraits that have been sent to me show an exceedingly fair young woman,” Dean says carefully. Cas supposes that says it all, really, and feels a sudden rush of empathy towards this man.

“Castiel,” Dean says, turning the word over in his mouth, much later. Jess and Sam aren’t dancing anymore, but they are still together, sitting with their heads bowed towards one another near the refreshment tables. “An unusual name.”

“Yes,” Cas answers, heart beating fast. Dean doesn’t say anything more.

At one-thirty Dean straightens up and sighs. “If I don’t make an appearance in the last half-hour everyone will have my head.” He cracks his neck and groans, tugging on the collar of his jacket. Cas chuckles, and Dean looks up, bemused. “Cas,” he says. “Could look for you again up here tomorrow? Better than being hounded by all the ladies hoping to trick me into marrying them.”

“Oh,” Cas blinks. Heat sears his cheeks. “We weren’t - we couldn’t afford -”

“Oh.”

“We aren’t destitute,” Cas says. “But -”

“Here,” Dean says. He digs in his pockets and holds out a handful of coins.

Cas shakes his head. “I can’t accept that.”

“Please.” Dean holds them out. “For your sister’s sake.”

“I -”

Dean’s face hardens and suddenly Cas is no longer looking at a man, but at the king. “Take them,” comes the command. “Get yourself a room in town. I expect to see you and your sister back tomorrow.”

“Very well, your majesty,” Cas says, lowering his eyes and taking the money. Some of the aggression leaves Dean’s stance, but he still frowns before turning on his heel and heading down the stairs.

Jess is, of course ecstatic when Cas finds her and tells her they are returning tomorrow. Sam grins and kisses her hand while she blushes.

“The prince is very taken with you,” Cas remarks in the carriage.

“I’m sure he isn’t,” Jess says. “How on earth are you paying for all this, Jimmy? Don’t tell me you had this all saved up.”

He doesn’t answer. If he tells her about the king, she may think she’s being favored, that there are expectations being placed upon her, and he doesn’t want to put pressure on her. She should enjoy herself without worrying about the consequences of this strange situation.

“Why haven’t you left?” Jess asks. “You could be halfway across the country by now.”

“I would never leave you,” he answers truthfully.

*

The next day all Cas wants to do is sleep. The money the king gave him was an exorbitant amount for just rooms, so he went out and bought a dress. The seamstress he purchased it from was cranky and irritable - she’d been repairing dresses all night, it seemed, and refused to make any adjustments. He stayed up and made them himself, letting the skirt down and loosening the bands around the arms.

Jess hugs him when she wakes and he decides it was worth it. He takes a nap in the carriage on the way to the ball, which rejuvenates him a bit. Sam is there to greet them and immediately takes Jess’s arm. “You look stunning,” he says. “Green suits you. Not that you didn’t look wonderful yesterday of course!”

Jess laughs. Cas wonders if this is all that he missed yesterday. Sam stumbling over compliments and Jess teasing him.

They take their leave of him faster than they did the day before, and after a moment’s hesitation Cas slips up the servants entrance again. He doesn’t see the king, so he settles down on a bench and closes his eyes.

He wakes up to the sound of laughter. Dean is in front of him, and there is something in his mouth.

He spits it into the palm of his hand. It’s a quill, the feathered end wet from where it lay on his tongue. He glares at Dean, who laughs harder.

“Man, you were out. I’ve done that to Sam and he’s always felt it the moment I stuck it in there.”

Cas wipes his tongue across his palm in the hopes that it will transfer some of the residue off. He’s less than successful, and now Dean is looking at him oddly, a small frown on his face. Cas whips his hand away from his mouth. He forgot he was in the presence of the king.

“Anyway, Cas, it’s good to see you.”

Cas nods. “You as well.”

Dean sits down next to him. “I hate to say it, but people are going to be looking for me tonight. Sam was furious that I didn’t entertain anyone, and one of the guards ratted out where I’d been.”

“I see,” Cas says. “So you’ll be downstairs?”

Dean turns to him with a grin, mischief in his eyes. It makes something stir inside Cas’s chest. Excitement, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s felt that. “I never said that. Want to help me stay a step ahead of them?”

“There are guards stationed at every staircase, aren’t there?” he asks curiously. “How do you propose to get past them?”

Dean grins. “You think they know all the secrets of this place?” he asks. “Follow me.” He leads Cas on a short circuit of the upper floors, and pauses in front of a portrait. “My grandfather,” Dean explains when Cas asks. “That’s not important, though.” he takes a few steps to the right and presses against the stone. It swings forward, and Cas laughs in delight.

“What’s a palace without a few secret passageways, am I right?” Dean grins.

The passageway is dark once the door closes behind them, and after a few minutes walking through the stairs Dean presses against another door and they stumble into the gardens. They are unlit, and there aren’t many people outside. As they walk around, the only ones they stumble across seem to be servants. They incline their heads whenever they see them, and Dean always inclines his head back, but once they are out of sight he breaks into a sprint.

“Your highness,” Cas asks. “Are you running away from your servants.”

“They’ll tell Bobby,” Dean gasps. “Can’t have them know where I am,” he grins. “Damn, you really are a fast runner. How come you aren’t winded?”

“You’re running all wrong,” Cas explains. “You’re too bouncy. You have to get rid off all that extra motion, the up and down. Just one smooth motion, forward. Find a good rhythm.”

Dean stares at him.

Cas frowns. “Your majesty?”

Dean shakes his head and frowns to match him. “I thought I told you to call me Dean, Cas.”

“Of course,” Cas says. “My apologies.”

Dean straightens and the strange moment is gone. “Let’s go to the stables.”

“This is Impala,” Dean says, stopping in front of a stall. A beautiful black mare tosses her head. “She’s my special girl.”

“I can see why,” Cas murmurs. He holds his hand out and she comes forward and nuzzles it.

“She likes you,” Dean says with pride. “She has good taste.”

“Dean!” Cas and Dean both jump and turn. A burly man is standing in the doorway.

“Shit,” Dean breathes. “Hey, Bobby!” To Cas he whispers, “Get on the horse.”

“What?”

“Just do it,” Dean hisses, while the man called Bobby advances on them.

“Boy, you are in a load of trouble,” Bobby says. Cas clambers awkwardly onto Impala’s back. “I ought to whip you upside the head.”

Dean grins and leans against the stall door. Cas’s breath catches when he sees that Dean flicks open the latch. “Looks like you found me,” he says. “Can you catch me though?” He kicks open the door and uses a notch in the wall to leap up behind Cas. “Go, baby,” he yells. Cas grabs onto her mane as Impala charges out of the door.

Cas hears Bobby cursing behind them, but most of all he hears the thunder of hoofs and Dean whooping in his ear. He hasn’t sat a horse in years, but his body remembers this, and he finds himself grinning.

“Slow down, Cas!” Dean yells in his ear. Cas shakes his head and kicks Impala onward. She breaks into a gallop.

“Holy shit!” Dean yells. His hands fasten around Cas’s hips as they pick up speed. Soon his eyes are watering from the wind, and eventually Dean leans forward and closes his hand over Cas’s.

“Calm down,” Dean says, pulling Impala’s mane. “We can stop running.”

Cas swallows hard and nods. He turns sheepishly to face Dean. “Sorry,” he says. “I got carried away.”

“It’s alright. You are one of the best riders I’ve seen,” Dean says in awe. “I sure got a kick out of it.” He grins and dismounts. Cas realizes, belatedly, that they’ve come to a stop beside a lake. It’s a very beautiful place, picturesque with a view of the palace across the water. If he strains, he can hear faint snatches of music and laughter. He slides off the back of the horse when Dean holds out his arm.

He does not do it nearly so gracefully, and he stumbles into Dean before righting himself. “My apologies,” he mumbles. Dean says nothing of it and shrugs. He paces a few feet away and takes a seat on a bench by the water’s edge. Cas joins him.

The music swells for a moment. To break the silence, Cas remarks, “They seems to be enjoying themselves.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah. There’s a running bet that a chandelier is gonna be smashed at some point.”

“That doesn’t worry you?”

Dean waves his hand dismissively. “More where they came from.”

France, Cas imagines. “Can I ask you something?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you hold the ball for your brother’s hand? Surely, that would be better received, since you are already engaged?”

“Maybe,” Dean replies. “But then everyone would know to throw themselves at him instead of me. Now they’re all running around with their heads cut off trying to find where I’m hiding and he can enjoy himself without worrying about people’s agendas.”

“I see,” Cas says. “You are a very devoted brother.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean rubs the back of his neck awkwardly before continuing. “So are you. I’m not blind. You made that first dress for her, didn’t you? And probably made adjustments to tonight’s one.” Cas straightens and glares, certain that he is being made fun of, but Dean is looking at him earnestly. He turns away and swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Besides,” Dean continues. “I thought, at the time, that I might find a paramour here.”

“Well,” Cas says. “I seemed to have ruined that for you, since you are spending all of your time with me. A wasted opportunity.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Dean says, clapping him on the back and squeezing his shoulder. “It’s been fun.”

“Glad to hear it,” says Cas.

The night passes surprisingly quickly. Dean tells him stories about his childhood. It is only when Cas shivers in the middle of one about him and Sam rowing out to the middle of the lake that they realize how late it is.

“Shit man,” Dean says. “You should’ve said you were getting cold.

“I didn’t realize,” Cas replies. “I was… enjoying myself.”

“How come you say it like that?” Cas looks up to find Dean frowning, twisted in his seat next to him. “How come you say that like you’re surprised? Is life treating you that roughly?”

Cas looks away. “No,” he says. “Not really.”

“Cas -”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he snaps.

Dean does not stir, and Cas holds himself as tense as an arrow string. “Fine,” he says eventually. “Let’s get back.”

The ride back is awkward, to say the least. Once again, Cas is in the front, but this time Dean’s presence isn’t warming.

Cas breaks the silence once the lights of the stables come into view. There are guards waiting for them, with the man who accosted them scowling at the head. “I’m sorry,” Cas says. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says. “Family is personal, I get it.”

“Finally,” the man named Bobby growls. “I thought I was gonna have to send a search party out.”

Dean laughs cockily. “You wouldn’t have found me and you know it.”

Bobby glowers and reaches for Dean the moment they get off the horse. “Give me a second, would ya?” Dean says.

Bobby huffs but lets go, motioning for the guards to step away. Dean draws him to the side. “Let’s not part on bad terms, okay?” He pulls out a pouch of money again and Cas winces preemptively. “I want to see you again tomorrow.” When he doesn’t take it Dean pushes it into his hands. “Please, Cas.”

Cas pockets the money. By it’s weight he knows it will be more than enough to retain the room they rented and buy Jess another dress. “Very well,” he answers. Dean nods, once, and turns on his heel and strides toward the palace.

*

The next night begins in much the same way as the last night did, except that Jess is strikingly quiet in the carriage ride to the palace.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks.

“Nothing,” Jess replies.

Cas is tired. The blue dress that Jess is wearing needed just as many adjustments as the one before it, and he would like nothing more than to sleep. He leans forward instead and places his hand over hers. “Please. Tell me.”

Jess gives him a weak smile. “I don’t want this to end,” she says quietly. She squeezes his hand. “After this, no more balls, no more dancing.”

“No more handsome princes?” Cas teases, attempting a joke.

Jess turns away. “No more handsome princes,” she repeats, quietly. Cas leans back.

“You really like him,” he says.

“Of course I do. He’s amazing. Far too wonderful for the likes of me.”

“Don’t say that,” Cas says fiercely. “No one is too good for you. No one.” He leans forward and pushes her hair gently away from her face, cups her cheeks. He used to do this all the time, before Naomi decided it was no longer appropriate.

Jess covers one of his hands. “Oh Jimmy,” she says. “What would I do without you?”

Cas blinks. For a second, he’d forgotten the charade. “You -” he begins, voice hoarse. “You would be just fine.”

Their carriage jolts to a halt and the door swings open. “Oh!” It’s Sam. “You weren’t ready, oh god. Sorry.” Jess laughs thickly. Cas takes his hands away and sits back.

“Let’s go,” Jess says, wiping away her tears and putting on a determined smile. “I want to dance.”

*

Dean is once again, not on the upper level, but Cas is sure that he will be found by the king eventually. He braces himself against the balcony and watches Jess and Sam. Contrary to what Jess said, she and Sam don’t seem to be doing much dancing. They are sitting next to each other at a table instead.

Cas covers his mouth as a yawn cracks his jaw.

“Holy moly,” Dean says from behind him. “That was a big one.”

“Hello Dean,” Cas says.

Dean steps up to lean against the balcony next to him. “Still don’t trust my bro with your sis, huh.”

Cas huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was just -” he breaks off as another yawn overtakes him.

“You okay?”

Cas nods. “Just tired. Haven’t gotten much sleep in all of the excitement.”

“You want to take a nap?” For a second Cas thinks Dean is teasing him, but when he looks up Dean looks perfectly serious.

“No, I’m fine,” he answers, rubbing his eyes.

Dean grabs him by the elbow and steers him away from the balcony. “Come on, let’s get you some bed time. You really need it.”

“No,” Cas protests, albeit half-heartedly. “I need to ask you something.”

“You can ask me later,” Dean says. “When you’ve had a few z’s. Come on, Cas,” he coaxes. “Sleep.”

Cas is very tired.

*

When he wakes up he finds himself in the middle of a very impressive four poster bed, sinking into an enormously comfortable pile of pillows and sheets. He props himself up on his elbows.

“You’re awake.” Dean lounges in a chair next to the bed, watching Cas in an amused sort of way. “I was beginning to think you had died.”

“No,” Cas says. “Still alive.” He brings his hand up to rub the fuzz out of his eyes and when he pulls it away Dean grabs his wrist. “Dean?” he asks, confused. The hand circled around his wrist gentles and slides up, holds him at the crease of his elbow as Dean leans forward and -

Oh. He has never been kissed before, and he certainly didn’t expect to be kissed here, by Dean. He freezes. Dean’s eyelashes are very long, he observes.

Dean’s lips promise everything. You’re safe, they seem so say. Let me take care of you, and Cas closes his eyes and does.

*

“What was it you wanted to ask me?” Dean asks later, into the meat of Cas’s left shoulder.

Cas hums, staring up at the canopy of Dean’s bed. The burgundy cloth will be forever burned into his memory in flashes of wonder.

“Cas,” Dean says, poking him in the side. Cas squirms away and Dean laughs, tugging him closer. “Come on, you said you wanted to ask me something right before you passed out on me.”

“You were the one who insisted I lie down in your bed,” Cas retorts.

“I don’t see you complaining,” Dean answers. “Tell me.”

Cas doesn’t reply right away. It doesn’t seem right to ask for favors while they are tangled up in each other, but it is important. “If Sam wishes to court my sister, could you have her stay in the palace?” he asks. Dean’s hand stills where it was idly stroking along his ribs, and Cas grabs it and rolls over so that he can look Dean in the face. “I only ask because the rest of my family… I think they would try to interfere. Pressure her into acting a certain way. I think she and Sam would be more comfortable if she could be herself.”

Dean regards him for a long moment. Eventually, he squeezes Cas’s hand and nods. “Of course,” he says. He shifts and kisses Cas so sweetly that his heart aches. “Let’s go find them.”

Sam and Jess aren’t hard to spot. Sam is nearly a head taller than everyone else, and Dean leads the way toward him with unerring precision. Cas follows, in a state of calm happiness that he can’t remember experiencing in a long time. A glass shatters, and he turns to look at the source of the noise.

It’s Naomi, and she’s staring at him in shock, a glass in a thousand shards at her feet. Cas feels his contentment break apart like the glass. The night is still young, but he knows it is over. Naomi turns, and Cas follows her gaze, and is not surprised when her eyes land on Sam and Jess. When she faces him again, her shock has turned to anger.

Cas flinches when a hand lands on his shoulder. It is Dean, and though Cas knows that his touch is given in camaraderie, it feels like a death sentence. “You okay, man?”

Belatedly Cas realizes he has hunched over, his good posture decimated by Naomi’s judgement. “Fine,” he says, straightening. Naomi’s eyes narrow. “Just a cramp.”

Dean steers him towards Sam and Jess, and Cas goes, even though he can feel Naomi watching them. The fantasy of happiness that he has constructed is long dead, he knows, but he has to keep up the charade. For Jess.

Sam and Jess and Dean are talking. It is probably important. Cas should pay attention, but by the time he manages to take note of things he and Jess are alone, in a set of rooms. They aren’t as fine as Dean’s but Jess running her hands along the sheets in apparent rapture. “... isn’t it marvelous?” she is saying.

“Yes,” Cas manages.

Jess must catch the wrong in his voice because she turns and frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I saw Naomi,” Cas says.

Jess blanches. Her face is white when she asks, “Did she see me and Sam?” Cas nods. “Oh no.”

It is such an understatement of the mess they are in that Cas laughs. It’s ugly and bitter.

“Did she see you?” Jess asks. Cas nods. “Oh, Jimmy,” Jess says. That name stabs Cas in the heart and he closes his eyes, internalizing it once again. “Stay here with me,” Jess begs. “I am sure the king would allow you -”

“No,” Cas says sharply. He played the dangerous game, and now he has lost, and he will pay the consequences. He shall take the punishment he receives, and he will not let anyone else bear the weight of his crimes.

“Jimmy,” Jess says.

When he opens his eyes she is right in front of him. She looks like she is about to cry, so he allows himself one final indulgence. He cups her cheeks and kisses her forehead. He bends down to press their foreheads together and whispers, “You be good now, little sister.”

When he pulls away Jess’s face is blank. She looks impossibly young, like the child she was fifteen years ago. “What?” she whispers. Cas backs away. “Wait,” she says. “Wait.”

He turns and runs. He hears her following, but he has always been fast, and from that first night with Dean he knows the upper levels better than she, who has only been up here that night could hope to. The secret staircase that he and Dean took to escape the second night is easy enough to find, and once he shuts the door he knows he is safe, but he still takes the stairs two at a time. He has to get out of this place before the thin rope he’s balancing on snaps.

He bursts out into the gardens and runs to the long line of carriages. It looks as if he is the first person to attempt to leave, and there is justice in that, he thinks. The last one to arrive should be the first one to have their foolish fantasies shattered. He finds it eventually, and shakes the driver awake. “We need to leave now,” he commands.

“Where’s the lady?” his driver asks grumpily.

“She’s found another mode of transportation,” Cas says. “Now, if you please.”

“All right,” the driver says. “Give me more time to sleep in a real bed, anyway.”

Cas sits tensely in the carriage until they pass out of sight of the capital. “Let me out here,” he demands.

“It’s the middle of the woods.”

“Let me out,” he repeats.

The driver throws his hands up and pulls over to the side. Cas jumps out and gives the driver the rest of the money he has. Compared to the sum Dean gave him originally it is not much, but the driver’s eyes still widen. “Hey,” the driver says. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cas says to the driver, and to himself. He starts walking down the road.

He waits until he hears the carriage start up and turn around, and then he turns and heads into the woods. He stumbles through the bushes and doesn’t pay any mind to the way brambles catch on his clothes. Once he is sure he is out of sight he drops to his knees. The emotional upheaval he’s kept inside rushes to the surface and he screams. It isn’t enough and he pounds his fists into the dirt, over and over again. At some point he starts sobbing, and only when one of his knuckles split on a half-buried stone does he pull himself together. He rubs his hands over his face to push away his tears, and the layer of dirt that scrapes over his cheeks is an unwelcome, but stark reminder of who he is. He takes a shaky breath and unties his shoes, pulls off his socks until his feet are bare to the forest floor. He catalogues every thick callous with his fingers, and when he stands the collection of sharp spikes that layer the ground don’t come close to piercing his skin.

Those three nights, where he got a glimpse of another life, have not changed him in any meaningful way. He got a taste of happiness in memories of thundering hooves, a burgundy bedspread and laughing green eyes, but now it is time to face the reality that his position is the same.

He leaves the shoes and the jacket bearing the family crest in the middle of the forest. He walks back toward the road and begins making his way to the house.  

It takes him over a day to return. By the time he arrives he would be unrecognizable to Dean. Of course, Naomi recognizes him. The second he walks through the gates she tears out of the house, fury throwing her normally perfect hair into disarray.

"You dare!" she shrieks. "You dare humiliate my family in this way! After everything I've done for you!"

That makes Cas look up. "After everything you've done for me!?" He asks incredulously.

Naomi's eyes widen and they dart back to the house. Out of the corner of his eye Cas sees Rachel and Hester peering out from a window. "What did you think I would do?"

"Be quiet!" Naomi hisses.

Cas thought his despair had left him that night in the woods, but he realizes then that it has only turned into anger. "I was twelve years old!" He shouts. "What were you so afraid of?"

Naomi's hand cracks across his face and the force of it surprises him, as it always does. She grabs his chin and turns his head, laying a knife lightly above his eye. He freezes. "Listen to me very carefully," she whispers. "Whoever you think you are, you are mistaken. You are nobody. If I were to put out your eye or stab you in the heart you would die, alone and unremembered. Don't forget that, James."

Cas closes his eyes, a sick feeling overwhelming him as he hears the truth in her words. "That's right," she says, stroking the side of his face in a parody of affection. "Remember your place."

Her hands are gone in a heartbeat. When Cas opens his eyes she has disappeared into the house. When he tries the doors he finds them locked. Apparently he is not forgiven yet.

He makes it halfway to town before he turns around. He hates Naomi and by extension the house more than he thought could be possible, but Jess might return there. And even if she never does, he owes it to her to stay.

Night has fallen and it is cold by the time he returns. The doors have stayed locked. For a while Cas huddles underneath some hay, but when shivers start to wrack his body he crawls into the pigsty. It smells, but he is warm.

In the morning he is woken by the sound of Hester and Rachel's laughter. He gets up and brushes the filth away from his body as best he can, and goes about his day.

He should not be surprised when envoys from the castle arrive, what with Jess a potential object of the prince’s affections, but he is all the same. Naomi does not touch him, filthy as he is, but he feels manhandled into the cellar all the same. The door locks behind him, but Cas knows the weak spots in the floor and crawls to a space where he knows he will be able to hear.

“...so sorry, we’re not in a fit state to entertain,” Naomi is saying.

“That’s all right.” Cas may be mistaken as he only heard it a handful of times, but he believes that voice belongs to the Bobby that chased after him. “Wouldn’t want to intrude. I’m just here to talk to Castiel.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Naomi says. Even Cas can detect no trace of a lie.

“Castiel Moore?” Bobby prompts. “The man of the house? The one who escorted Lady Jessica to the ball?”

“Castiel died,” Naomi says, “When he was only twelve years old, the poor thing. It was just after Jessica’s father passed, so I’m afraid we ladies have been without a ‘man of the house’ for nearly fifteen years.”

“Oh. Well who was the -”

“A servant in my employ,” Naomi says shortly. “I sacked him, for the subterfuge.”

“I see. Well. I suppose I can talk just as readily with you…”

Cas has heard enough. He removes himself to the furthest corner of the cellar and stares at his knees for the rest of the night, until it gets too cold. He presses up tentatively on the cellar door, and finds that it is unbarred. He pushes it open and goes to spend the rest of the night with the pigs.

Two months later, he is splitting logs on the furthest corner of the property when he hears the familiar sound of horses. He looks up, interested in a vague sort of way, hoping for a distraction. It takes him a few moments to process what he’s seeing, and then he realizes - purple, every horse (and there are a considerable number) is clad in purple, and the liveries of all the men are emblazoned with the royal crest. Cas watches, hand tightening around the handle of the axe, and suddenly he catches a glimpse of burgundy, the same shade that has been haunting his dreams. He gasps, looks down at himself, drops the axe, and bolts.

He does not make it very far before riders chase him down. “Hey,” one of them calls. It takes all of Cas’s willpower not to stop at the sound of that familiar voice. He runs until he is hemmed in, and he shakes as he tries to find a break in the horses, to no avail.

“Cas,” Dean says.

He shakes his head, turning in a circle desperately looking for a way out. He is filthy, filthy, and he smells even worse. He has no mirror, but he doesn’t need one to know that he is a wreck of a man. Dean can’t be here, can’t see him like this. He can’t.

“Castiel is dead!” Naomi shrieks. “This boy is a nobody. A nobody. He sleeps with the pigs, for god’s sake. A simpleton.”

Cas nods. Right now he certainly feels like one. He sinks to the ground and hides his face between his knees. His heart is beating too fast for his feet to hold him up.

Someone dismounts, crouches in front of him. Gloved fingers force his chin up, and Cas meets Dean’s gaze. “Don’t,” he whispers, tears welling in his eyes when he sees recognition in Dean’s.

“You are Cas,” Dean says.

“Don’t,” he repeats.

He tries to twist away but Dean just grips his jaw tighter “Why is she lying?” Dean asks him.

“She’s not,” Cas whispers. “Castiel Moore died when he was twelve, I’m not him, I’m a nobody, just like she said.”

“I have never,” Dean says quietly, “Seen a nobody ride a horse like you do.”

“Dean, stop it.”

Happiness lights in Dean’s eyes. “So you do admit to know me.”

Cas yells, inarticulate and raw, knocking Dean’s hand away and leaping to his feet. He is about to run, gauntlet of horses be damned, when a quiet voice catches him off guard.

“Castiel?”

Whatever bottom Cas had retained in his stomach drops out, and he turns toward the source.

Jess is seated on a beautiful horse, and as he watches she dismounts gracefully. “Castiel?” she asks again.

He is frozen to the spot. He could no more move if he were cast in stone. She comes toward him and it is almost breathtaking how beautiful she looks, how brightly her skin shines with health. He could never take care of her properly in this house, and shame clogs his throat. He should have done better.

“You did something, the last night of the ball, that only my brother did,” Jess says. He closes his eyes. He cannot stand this. “Please don’t lie to me. Not anymore.”

"I'm sorry," he gasps. "I didn't want to, I didn't mean -" She wraps her arms around him and he buries his face in her hair.

"It's alright," she says. "I forgive you."

Cas sobs and reaches back. As he holds Jess in his arms he is hit by this bizarre feeling that if he doesn't let go everything will revert back. He will open his eyes and be twelve again, bidding his sister goodbye before he goes back to school, but this time it won't be for the last time.

"This is ridiculous," Naomi says. Cas opens his eyes and he's still twenty five, but Jess doesn't pull away from him and that's good enough for him.

"I have Castiel's death certificate!" Naomi says triumphantly. "You can't take this house away from me."

"That's what this was about?" Dean asks incredulously. He stands beside Cas and places his hand on his shoulder. “A house?”

“You can’t take it away from me!” she shrieks once again.

Dean squares his shoulders, and Cas knows he is a heartbeat away from using royal privilege. “I don’t want it,” he says quietly.

“What?” Dean asks.

“If I ever did I don’t want it anymore. I’m not lying when I say that I am not Castiel. I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“You are Castiel,” Dean protests. “I know you.”

“Maybe once,” he smiles softly. “Now I’m just… Cas.”

Dean’s eyes crinkle as he smiles in understanding. “Cas,” he says. “Let me take you back to the palace. We’ll get you a bath.”

“Very well,” Cas says.

“You stink,” Dean adds.

Cas stares. This is going to be his life. He is going to live in a palace with his sister and a monarch who tells him he stinks. Cas throws back his head and laughs.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Dudes, if you made it through this ridiculousness I commend you. I really needed to get this out of my head because my silly brain refused to let it go.
> 
> The title is from the 1950's Cinderella, the inspiration is from 2015 Cinderella, and a lot of the changes I've made to the story from those comes from Ella Enchanted (the book).
> 
> Feel free to tell me how you felt about this! I'm very interested, believe you me.
> 
> You can also say hi on tumblr, here: http://deanniker-wastingtime.tumblr.com/


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